


Johnny Just Came To The Late Bar

by Pink_and_Velvet



Category: Duran Duran
Genre: Band Fic, Developing Relationship, Drinking, Drunken promises, M/M, Pillow Talk, Pub Crawls, Sick Fic, bedroom eyes, hangovers, of sorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:20:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22347841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pink_and_Velvet/pseuds/Pink_and_Velvet
Summary: He didn’t have to worry about how he’d be getting back. What mattered now was the drinks, the pub crawl up ahead.For the anonymous Tumblr prompt: I’ll stay until you’re feeling better.
Relationships: Nick Rhodes/John Taylor (Duran Duran)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	Johnny Just Came To The Late Bar

Giggling, hiccuping, a choked off groan, saw John’s tumbling through the murky streets of downtown Birmingham, headed straight for Broad Street. The pub crawl was calling to him, beckoning him over in flashing neon lights as pub after pub was illuminated.

Stumbling through the heavy door he barely had any grip on, he threw himself into the smokey thick of it: riding the nicotine and sweet barley before he paraded to the bar.

“Have you” he began, with a chuckle, “you… seen my” he shot out an accusatory finger, it tapped a shoulder irritably, “my-“ he hiccuped, “ _boyfriend?_ ”

John felt the weight shove back at him, shaking him off of his arm.

“Alright, alright, jeez” he sputtered, before wobbling to the other end of the bar. “Have you seen, uh.”

John paused. He pouted, bringing an arm up to caress his chin and formed a quizzical expression.

“My.. man, this high” John’s hand hovered atop the slick oak bar, “this blonde” he motioned to the mess of blonde bimbo’s that had formed at his back. “Grabs my cock like.. l-like” he hiccuped again, dismissing it with a wave, “ _this?_ ”

He wrapped a clumsy hand around the girl’s who had grabbed him.

“Do us.. all a.. uh, favour luv” he batted her off, “get a line, yeah? Meet us back.. b-back at _woah!_ ”

A hand was on his shoulder and yanking him from the crowd.

“Christ John.” He muttered, storming straight for the front door.

He was hauling John’s drunk ass out of there, whilst John groped and kissed his way through the swarm of fans half hanging off of his crotch. He was laughing, stupidly high pitched, giggling and all that: which made the body yank him harder; picking up speed.

“Awww, not” John burped, “ooh, that one smells _awful!_ Not f-.. fi-“ he squinted, raking in those pissed off eyes, “ _three_ , free mo’ minutes?”

“No.”

John suddenly felt queasy, even more so than before. He could hold his liquor damn well but.. oh no. Crap.

He dived for a bush and watched the vodka, tequila, whatever, come back up. He was panting, a line of drool being hastily wiped from his mouth.

“Tree.. th- _three_ more minutes?” He stumbled again, immersing himself in the inky black night as they headed towards the canal. “C’mon! That- that chick.. was hot!”

“For the love of— shut up!”

John blinked, then pouted.

“We’re getting you home. Think you can last a taxi ride without spewing up all over yourself?”

John made a non-commital noise.

There was a pause. A raise of eyebrows that John could barely make out through the blinding neon that danced through the street.

“Am I going to have to haul your drunk ass back, on foot?”

“Yes!” He pointed, “that one.”

“Christ.”

Together they, well John, stumbled and fumbled throughout the streets. They were now soaked, the heavens having chosen the optimum moment to open and beat down upon them. John loved it, shaking free from the firm grip to twirl about the rain storm: head tilting upwards and arms shooting out.

The hand grabbed his again and together they continued the long winded trek to John’s place. It was probably John’s place.

John was shoved through the front door and guided to the what he assumed was a bedroom.

John threw himself atop the comfy, fluff ball that was probably a sheet. Turning to his stomach, he slammed his head into the pillow.

“Stay there. I’m not letting you leave until you sober up.”

John’s reply was muffled.

“What?”

He slowly raised his head, cheeks puffy and eyes red, “said I.. you could be waitin’.. waiting a while.”

John watched the body head for the door, screwing his head into the pillow.

“Hey, wait!” John called, trying to rise to seated.

He didn’t get very far. Ass in the air, rumpled shirt hanging out of his now open belt, John was in a heap amongst the fluff.

“When can I.. we?”

“We what, John?”

John blinked, he fumbled with his words.

Feeling the weight of the mattress shift, John sighed a drunk man’s sigh: long and exasperated, staring hard at nothing.

“We.. you, when you will?”

“Spit it out, Nigel.”

John’s tongue felt far too big for his mouth. He stuttered, fumbled, bulldozing over himself for a couple minutes.

Eventually, “to hell with it.”

John dived forward, planting a huge sloppy kiss across that well cut cheek. He didn’t dare to move anywhere, somehow conscious as to the fact his breath wreaked of everything he had consumed that night. That morning, whatever.

Grounding the disarray of blonde-brown hair against smooth skin, John croaked out, “when will you, Nick, k—“ he hiccuped, “ _kiss_ me?”

He felt Nick’s hands wrap around his lanky frame tighter, he was smoothing out the wrinkles in the cotton. Smoothing out John’s skinny tie, that was sitting miles from his creased collar.

“Sober up, John. I’ll get you some Ibuprofen, a drink—“

“—Vodka?!” John perked up, knowing that wasn’t what was on offer.

Nick’s manicured fingers latched into his hair, prying John from him.

“I’ll stay by your side. You best be sober before we shoot tomorrow.”

“Shoot?” He trailed off, nodding.

John watched Nick head back towards the door, perfectly little ass filling out his perfectly little trousers.

“And in, in the… morning, Nick” John began, slumping back down onto the mattress, “then will you, you know, uh.. _kiss_ me?”

Nick’s piercing gaze softened, his ruby lips quirking upwards.

“Only if you’re good, Nigel. Only if you’re _good_.”


End file.
